


Rub Me Raw

by Sincerely_Sierra



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, F/F, Mentions of Rape, Minor canon divergence, Nightmares, PTSD, Trauma, Victim-blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Sierra/pseuds/Sincerely_Sierra
Summary: Madison deals with the trauma and aftermath of the party. Zoe is there.





	Rub Me Raw

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mentions of rape, brief description of rape, rape aftermath. 
> 
> I worked on this for weeks, and it’s been a hell of a time. I’m still not 100% satisfied, but it’s time I just finished it up. Proceed with caution.
> 
> —Sincerely, Sierra

The world has always been forgettable for Madison. She likes to pretend she’s reciprocating the favor by coming off as rude or uninterested in society and becoming a better person. Time and time again, the universe has managed to screw her—literally—so she frequently entertains the idea of forgetting that, as a human, she has some responsibility. It’s much simpler to just forget and pretend.

 

However, not everything is so easy to forget. Especially things that, when she strips herself of her clothing, unveil and reveal themselves dotted across her lower half, decorated between her legs and the insides of her otherwise milky thighs. They’re purple in the centers and yellowish around the edges, like puss after an infection.

 

Some bruises never heal. They never fade; both in a figurative and literal sense. Madison fears that she will have to adorn the ones she’s been disgraced with until she’s put in her final grave. Summer’s just ended, and thank god for that, because she can’t wear shorts now. Not that anyone seems to mind or anything, but the bruises and welts are much more prominent this morning.

 

Thirty-six hours.

 

It’s been thirty-six hours and the ghostly hands feeling Madison up have not left her flesh. She’s sure they’re dead; it was on the news yesterday morning. But still, if she sits too placid for too long, she can feel hands grabbing her thighs, forcing them open. She’s tinier than they are, and no matter which way she writhes or turns, or how hard she cries and pleads, they won’t leave her _alone_. They won’t let her _go_. They won’t get _off_ of her.

 

It’s the faint whistle of wind that wakes Madison. She was in the middle of an early afternoon nap, to forget again. When she opens her eyes, she finds Zoe—goddamn that little witch bitch—at the window, throwing the lace curtains open and sliding the window pane up to let in some fresh autumn air.

 

Madison curls into herself, bony knees tucked to her abdomen. It physically hurts to stay like this, so she loosens up her body and turns onto her back, clenching her eyes shut again to block out the sunlight Zoe has allowed to come flowing in like a river stream.

 

“Madison, wake up,” Zoe says.

 

“Go away.”

 

Frowning, the brunette-haired perches herself on the edge of Madison’s bed. Madison ignores her presence. Though she’d never admit it, Madison feels somewhat comforted knowing Zoe is here with her. Zoe hasn’t left her side since the other night when she found her drowsy and drugged and violated on a stranger’s bed, and though that should be annoying for Madison, it’s just not. Zoe isn’t annoying, but she isn’t always a pleasure to be around, either.

 

“Cordelia is upset that you missed morning gathering. Again,” Zoe informs the blonde as she toys with a strain of her own silky hair. “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

 

Something turns on in Madison, and she becomes angry. At what or whom, she’s unsure, but Zoe is here, so she takes it out on her, because it’s so much easier than processing her emotions.

 

“I’m just fucking fine and fucking dandy!” Madison snaps. “What does it look like, you dense moron?”

 

And she regrets it some but not enough to apologize. She doesn’t apologize to anyone. That’s not who she is. In fact, Zoe should be apologizing to her for waking her up.

 

“You know, if you want to talk about it—“

 

Madison sits up, grabs her pillow, and chucks it at Zoe. It hits her in the face and knocks her over on the ground. Satisfied with the huge thump that coincides with Zoe’s fall, Madison lays back down and pulls her covers over herself.

 

“Madison, I’m just trying to help you!” Zoe defends, picking herself up from the floor as she rubs her swelling elbow.

 

“Well, I don’t want your help. You can’t help me. You can’t fix this.”

 

Zoe gives up then, but only because Cordelia is calling her from their gathering room. She goes to tell Cordelia to give her a minute, so she can tend to Madison a little longer and hopefully convince her to get out of bed, but she decides that leaving her alone is the best choice. At least, for now.

 

With a soft sigh, Zoe leaves Madison alone with the humming wind. When she’s sure Zoe has left for good, Madison pushes herself into a sitting position, and winces, feeling the aching throbs slathered across her thighs.

 

It requires some force, but she eventually maneuvers herself to stand on her own. She uses the last remnants of strength and will to hobble to the bathroom where the shower is awaiting her. Everything from the waist down hurts but is numb all at once. It’s an odd phenomenon to experience, but so is everything else in her life.

 

The water is scalding as it sprays out of the shower head. Before long, steam rises into the air and chokes Madison as she’s stripping herself of her casual day clothes. The mist obstructs her vision and makes the bruises somewhat tolerable to look at.

 

The temperature just about scorches Madison’s milky, fragile skin. She tries to twist the knob that operates the hot water, but it doesn’t budge. It can’t get any hotter. Disappointed, she turns her back to the stream and lets the water hit it until her frontside is cold and neglected in comparison.

 

She begins to wash herself, hoping that maybe it will get the phantom hands off of her body. But she’s not as careful as she should be, because how can she be used to this in thirty-six hours? She accidentally presses too hard with the washcloth against her inner thigh, and she has to muffle the strangled whine that tries to burst through her lips.

 

Closing her eyes, she drops the drenched cloth on the floor of the porcelain tub in favor of rubbing some fruity soap over her body. She’s unfamiliar with the scent; Zoe must have put it here when she arrived, and she hates herself for feeling comforted by it. It’s unlike what Madison normally uses. It’s softer but somehow much more vibrant in smell. It doesn’t smell like the fancy organic stuff Madison uses. Rather, it’s simple and sweet.

 

Behind her eyelids plays a dark, flashing memory of sorts. It’s blurry and distorted, but Madison can see slivers of faces—strange boys—flickering in and out of her vision. Then she feels the hands gripping her legs and waist, pinning her down. They work their way up, up, up. All the way up to her bellybutton, under some fabric that’s tight around her small body. Everything hurts all of a sudden, especially between her legs. Pain throbs in tune with weird music off in the distance.

 

She can’t move. It’s unsure if she’s paralyzed in whatever sick flashback she’s having, or here, in the shower. Whatever it is, she finds herself curled on the floor, sitting under the shower head. She uses her knees as a way to stifle her sobs, and she cries into them. Before long, her whines and wails of desperation and anguish descend into nothing, when nothing more can come out.

 

The water runs cold when she’s calmed down. She turns the taps off and grabs a fluffy towel from the rack, drying her reddened, flamed body off. She’s red and raw in all the wrong places from the scorching heat, and she swears she’s blistering somewhere.

 

Drying her legs, she notices yet another bruise in the shape of a thumb sneaking up her right thigh. No telling who caused it, but there is telling his fate, and Madison wonders if she should thank herself or Zoe for it.

 

For her own sanity—or what’s left of it—Madison credits herself. Because crediting Zoe is just too difficult in an already-difficult situation. At least, that’s what she thinks it’s supposed to be.

 

+++

 

Cordelia says nothing of the accusations Zoe spilled in a panic when two detectives came snooping around the academy today. They were like dogs, getting into Zoe and Madison’s innocent-yet-guilty faces and blatantly accusing them of knowing things about the bus crash that just so happened to occur after Madison’s assault, which no one had known of previous to Zoe’s confession.

 

It’s a shame, really. Fiona saved their asses while Cordelia sat and watched slack-jawed and awed by the situation. When Zoe jumped up and screamed, “They gang-raped her!”, Madison went cold.

 

 _Rape_.

 

She hates that word with a burning passion. It sounds so violating and disgusting. Before this, it wasn’t really a part of her vocabulary. She never even considered it to be a word she’d use. But, after that night, it’s the only word floating around in her head.

 

Adding the word “gang” in front of it doesn’t improve its sickening quality any more than adding spice to spoiled meat does. In fact, it just worsens the aftertaste.

 

Zoe and Madison are forced to stay in their shared bedroom after Fiona has finished lecturing them about being stupid and weak but yet telling them they’re better than the simple mortals that occupy this world. It’s not that bad of a punishment; Cordelia will never approve of this “no dinner” thing Fiona has set in place anyways.

 

It’s not terrible. Madison doesn’t hate Zoe. Deep down inside, she can’t find it in herself to hate the newest coven member. After all, Zoe was there. She found Madison laying on that bed and brushed her hair from her face, speaking soothingly to her. The rest is all just a mushy blurb of faces and echoey noises, but she remembers how Zoe covered her up with a blanket and stroked her cheek as she promised to not let those assholes get away with what they did.

 

She hardly recalls falling asleep and waking up with anger-fueled adrenaline pumping through her veins. She blames her flipping the bus on the rage and the instincts she felt she needed to follow to survive. That’s typical for Madison Montgomery; everything and everyone else is at fault.

 

Even Zoe. No. _Especially_ Zoe.

 

Because who else is there to blame? That frat boy Kyle? He’s dead. And so are the rest. Zoe was the only witness to what happened. She’s the easiest target for Madison’s blame game.

 

“You know, if you wanna talk about what happened, we can,” Zoe suddenly offers, turned away from Madison so she doesn’t have to see the scowl.

 

“Nothing happened,” Madison says. “Just forget it.”

 

That’s very typical of Madison. There is nothing more she wants than to forget.

 

“If nothing happened, then there’s nothing to forget, is there?” Zoe counterpoints.

 

And that’s very typical of Zoe. She’s stubborn in all the wrong ways.

 

“You are being so fucking nosy,” Madison accuses towards the taller witch, index finger pointed straight at her chest. “This isn’t about you. It has nothing to do with you.”

 

“I was there. I saw what they did to you! It was awful! I’m just trying to help.” Zoe’s shoulders slump in defeat.

 

“Well, guess what? It’s none of your goddamn business! I just want to forget about it and move on! It happened and that’s it! You can’t fix it!” After that declaration, Madison fixes her position so she’s staring out the window instead of looking at Zoe.

 

“So it did happen,” Zoe whispers, more to herself. But she does speak to the blonde. “Madison, I just want you to talk to me. I. . .I heard you crying yesterday. In the shower. I didn’t want to bother you, so I didn’t ask. But I’m very scared for you.”

 

In a split second, Madison snaps her head around to glare at Zoe over her shoulder.

 

How fucking dare she.

 

How dare Zoe pry into her personal time. How dare she eavesdrop on a private moment. How dare she even _exist_ at this point.

 

“Why were you listening? What, were you hoping I’d open the door and let you in? You’re wrong! This has nothing to do with you. I’ve only known you for three days! Not even! You mean absolutely nothing to me!”

 

The way Madison feels after that leaves her mouth almost renders her disgusted with herself. And the way Zoe’s concerned expression morphs into anger and hurt only heightens the remorse.

 

“Fine,” Zoe snaps, standing up. “You want to be alone? You’re alone.”

 

Despite Fiona demanding that they remain in their room for the rest of the evening, Zoe leaves. She simply takes her spell book, tucks it under her arm, and walks out the door, but she doesn’t slam it. She’s not pissed off enough to. This leaves Madison all alone and cold yet again.

 

For the first time, Madison holds some deep regret. As if the flashbacks and bruises weren’t enough; she’s now lost the only person she could share her feelings with if that’s what she desired. She took advantage of Zoe by not taking advantage of her at all.

 

She takes things and gives nothing in return. She cannot reciprocate, because it’s too tricky to handle. She cannot do anything right.

 

Her mother was right. Madison doesn’t belong here. She’s different, but not in the “unique” way. More like in the “burden” way.

 

Madison Montgomery is a burden. Not only on her coven and Cordelia, but on herself. To anyone else, being a burden on oneself is damn near impossible—because humans are self-centered like that—but that’s just yet another downside of being Madison. She’s managed to screw herself over.

 

She wants so badly to get it right. However, getting it right is not in her cards. It never was.

 

+++

 

Madison and Zoe don’t talk for two days straight. They speak only in short glances and shrugs. Cordelia doesn’t even attempt to get them to speak to each other; she assumes time will heal this mess.

 

Time doesn’t do shit; not for Madison, at least. Instead, time allows things to fester, not to mend. Cordelia figures that things are just too raw, and so she doesn’t confront Madison about her assault. The headmistress knows her young witch all too well; Madison won’t open up to her and it’ll just be a big fight to get her to talk, like with Zoe.

 

Giving it time doesn’t really help all that much when time is the most crucial factor in an equation.

 

Madison has yet another nightmare. In her nightmare, she’s pinned down to a bed, and she can’t move. She tries to scream for help, for Zoe or Cordelia or even Fiona, but nobody comes. They leave her there, helpless and trapped by whatever invisible force is holding her to the mattress.

 

She can see Zoe’s face in the distance. Zoe’s shaking her head at Madison, seemingly disappointed and annoyed. Cordelia is here, too, and she’s also less than thrilled.

 

“You’ve done it again, Madison,” Cordelia says, clicking her tongue. It echoes loudly, enough to make Madison’s ears hum. “Why can’t you ever just watch your drinks? Why do you have to be so stupid? You do this to yourself.”

 

“Yeah, Madison,” Zoe echoes, “I’m not here to pick you up again. I tried once. You’re alone now.”

 

 _Stupid_. _Worthless_. _Alone_. _Slut_. _Whore_.

 

All these words jumble together and display in front of Madison, taunting her. She thrashes around when she feels the hem of her bandage dress pushing up her thighs, revealing a thin pair of white lace undies. It’s seemingly moving on its own, riding up further, until it’s bunched around her little waist, and she’s fully exposed.

 

She screams one time, loud and gurgling. It’s after the first two seconds of yelling that she can no longer breathe. Oxygen becomes trapped in her throat, wound around her trachea, suffocating her. Spots appear in her vision, pulsating in and out.

 

Everything falls to pieces in a split second, and Madison wakes with a violent jolt. There’s the faint taste of vodka in her mouth, before it vanishes off her tongue as she takes in her surroundings. She’s in her bed, sat upright against the pillows, as she trembles.

 

“Shh, it’s okay,” a soft voice murmurs to her. “Hey, you’re alright, Madison.”

 

It feels like forever by the time Madison can place the voice to a face. Soft doe eyes and pink lips. Honey brown locks. A reassuring smile.

 

“Zoe?” Madison croaks. She’s crying, but she isn’t sure exactly when the tears started coming.

 

“I’m right here. You were having a nightmare,” Zoe whispers. “I’ve got you.”

 

Sure enough, a pair of arms wrap around Madison, pulling her close. Dear god, she wants to revolt and push the witch away. After all, they’re supposed to despise one another. But she can’t. Be it from her being utterly frozen in terror, or from Zoe providing her a sense of normalcy. Either way, Madison finds herself melted away in Zoe’s snug embrace.

 

“I won’t push you to talk about it,” Zoe murmurs into a lock of blonde hair. “I’m sorry for what happened earlier.”

 

Madison responds with a single sob in Zoe’s chest. If it were anyone else, she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t let her guard down. The wall she’s built up so high on her own would remain high. But, for an odd reason, she doesn’t flinch when it starts to crumble.

 

“It’s all my fault,” Madison whines. “I’m fucking stupid.”

 

Zoe pulls away and flicks on the bedside lamp. Madison winces at the yellowed light, turning away from it. She gently wipes Madison’s salty tears from her cheeks.

 

“You aren’t stupid. Why would you say that?” Zoe questions.

 

“I-I. . .I am so stupid,” she sobs. “I didn’t w-watch my drink and I let s-someone give one to me and it’s all my fault!”

 

Zoe brings the shivering blonde into her arms again, rubbing circles around her back. Madison holds onto her, soft skin pressed against Zoe’s.

 

“Hey, stop blaming yourself,” Zoe says. “What they did to you was disgusting. They were inhumane animals. It’s not your fault, Maddie.”

 

 _Maddie_.

 

Somehow, hearing the nickname slip from Zoe’s mouth makes Madison cry harder. Zoe doesn’t prescind Madison’s need for comfort, no matter how much the former star pushes her away. She doesn’t offer Madison any flummery or falsities. They do nothing in this situation.

 

“Shh, shh,” Zoe hushes. “If you wanna tell me what you dreamed of, you can. But only if you want.”

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Madison clenches her fists around the soft fabric of Zoe’s nightshirt, shaking her head in Zoe’s chest. Zoe doesn’t force her any more than she has by now, choosing to provide the quiet solace rather than an interrogation.

 

“You’re burning up,” Zoe comments. “Look, you’re sweating.”

 

Zoe pulls her hand from Madison’s back, revealing glistening perspiration there. Madison does feel hot, internally. But she’s shivering, chills going up her spine.

 

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Zoe asks.

 

Madison wants to say yes and dive back under the covers to rest for an eternity, but suddenly the pillows are intimidating and Zoe’s warmth is too comforting. Despite feeling somewhat negatively about it, Madison doesn’t release Zoe from her grip.

 

“No. I feel hot and sticky. . .and I’m too scared.”

 

Zoe bites her bottom lip, unsure of how to handle Madison in this very unlike-Madison state. It’s late. They have nothing to do come daylight, but Zoe has always been an early bird. However, she has to set aside her want for sleep in the meantime.

 

“How about I run you a cool bath or something?” Zoe offers. “Maybe it will calm you down and you can get back to sleep.”

 

After a few seconds of drowsy pondering, Madison nods. Zoe has to pry the girl’s hands off of her body in order to make it to the bathroom to fill the tub with cool water. It’s a mixture of cold and lukewarm; it corresponds with Madison. A little bit of bitterness, and a tidbit of humanity. Balance.

 

Keeping her arms coiled around herself, Madison pads into the bathroom, anxiously taking in her surroundings. The bathroom doesn’t seem any different than usual; it’s clean and warm. Her irrational fear of waking up in a parallel universe is torpid, for the time being.

 

“It’s not that cold,” Zoe declares, removing her hand from the water. “I can make it warmer, if you’d like.”

 

Madison shakes her head, trusting that Zoe has kept the water tepid enough for her to endure a short bath. The brunette is too kind to purposely douse her in freezing or scalding water, even after everything Madison said to her. Bless her feeble little heart.

 

Zoe pulls a clean towel from their cabinet and drapes it over the rack beside the tub.

 

“Uh, I’ll just go back to my bed,” Zoe says, scratching her neck. “I’ll stay awake until you’re finished.” She begins to walk out the door.

 

“No!” Madison cries. Zoe turns around and cocks an eyebrow. “I. . .I’m afraid to be alone in here.”

 

Nothing more is needed to be said for Zoe to understand. She won’t make Madison say it; she’ll save Madison the degradation of asking her to stay. Because Madison Montgomery doesn’t ask someone to stay. She demands.

 

Not this time.

 

The tile of the large space is cool and inviting when Zoe sits down on it. The toilet or vanity chair would be more feasible options, but they both hurt her back after awhile. And she wants to be able to turn around when Madison strips herself of her pajamas.

 

“Can you look away?” Madison asks. “I. . .You don’t want to see. . .”

 

With a simple, compliant nod of her head, Zoe scoots and does a one-eighty to face the bare wall. She hears clothes drop to the floor, and as curious as she is to know what it is she supposedly “doesn’t want to see,” she respects the former star’s privacy, and keeps her eyes trained ahead until the faint sound of flesh meeting water arises.

 

Beads of sweat continue to roll down Madison’s skin, though the water is almost as cool as the aftertaste of mint.

 

Bathing is worse than showering, so it seems. At least when showering, the sounds of her cries were muffled by the shower head. Now, she’s fully exposed and open. Stripped of all confidentiality and privacy. But it’s different. She’s not being forced. Zoe is here merely for comfort.

 

Zoe continues to look at the wall, despite the sudden silence worrying her. There’s the faint splashing of water and the sound of soap being forcefully squeezed out of a bottle. Then a cap closing and water swishing.

 

“Ouch!” Madison involuntarily yelps.

 

Instinctively, Zoe jumps and whips her head around. Madison’s sitting fully upright in the bathtub, completely exposed, with her eyes clenched shut. A wince distorts her pretty face. Upon closer inspection, Madison has one arm submerged in the water.

 

“What’s wrong?” Zoe asks.

 

Madison freezes. How does she tell Zoe that it hurts? How does she tell her that she accidentally touched the sorest part of her entire body with a washcloth and now there’s a sensation akin to fire there? How does she tell her that it hurts because of what those monsters did to her?

 

Zoe would never understand just how painful this is to endure. It would be futile to attempt, wouldn’t it?

 

“It. . .it hurts.”

 

She tries anyway. After all, Zoe only wants to help.

 

The way Madison looks at her with tearful, glossy eyes sends some sort of sharp pain through Zoe’s chest. Despite being nude, in a bath with everything out in the open, Madison doesn’t refuse or shy away when Zoe comes closer. Zoe frowns, dimples settling in her cheeks.

 

“What hurts?” Zoe inquires.

 

“They hurt me. You know. . .”

 

It requires a second of thought, but Zoe finally understands, and it hurts even more. Hurt and pity is replaced with anger and remorse. Anger for what those bastards did to her, and remorse that she was only able to get revenge on one of them.

 

She would ignite the entire world if it made Madison feel better.

 

That’s a new problem she’ll put away in her mental “save for later” file.

 

“Madison, maybe you should see a doctor. I can take you,” Zoe offers, quietly and unsure.

 

“No!” Madison barks. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m perfectly fine.”

 

“But if you’re still hurting, you might—“

 

“I don’t need a doctor. I’m okay. I just need to heal,” insists Madison.

 

Again, Zoe doesn’t push. She tells herself that, the only reason she doesn’t press the matter any further, is because she’s too tired and exhausted. Which is sort of true. Her eyes are heavy.

 

Once Madison’s bathwater runs colder than it had been, Zoe grabs the towel and throws it open, standing up and averting her gaze to the wall. She allows the sound of water splashing to let her know that Madison has gotten out of the tub.

 

Madison takes the towel and dries herself off. Now she notices she doesn’t have any clean pajamas. Zoe gathers up the sweaty ones and deposits them in the hamper for her, continuing to look anywhere but Madison, even if she’s covered.

 

“I’ll go get you some fresh clothes.” Zoe hurries out of the bathroom, head tilted downwards.

 

A chill runs up Madison’s spine, as she suddenly feels so alone, again. She carelessly drops the towel around her ankles and limps to the sink, where she stares at herself in the mirror. Once-bright eyes have sunken in, her cheeks have hallowed, and her lips couldn’t get any paler. The only noticeable features are the dotted bruises.

 

Zoe returns with some clothes in her hands. Upon seeing Madison’s nude body, she gasps. She puts the pajamas on the toilet lid and turns away.

 

“S-Sorry. I’ll be in the room,” Zoe mutters, leaving once again.

 

Madison thinks she should feel dirty, but she doesn’t. At least, not at this moment in time. She did feel dirty for awhile, when she came to and found out what had been done to her. She may not feel dirty, but she does feel very stupid and idiotic.

 

Somehow that’s a lot worse.

 

She quickly dresses herself and returns to their bedroom, where Zoe is sat on her own bed.

 

“I didn’t know you were naked,” Zoe says, but it’s directed to the wall.

 

“I don’t care that you saw my bare ass. Some of us aren’t prudes.” Madison rolls her eyes and plops on her bed.

 

“I saw more than that,” Zoe admits, looking over her shoulder. “God, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

 

“Well, it is. Gold star for you for figuring it out.”

 

There’s the Madison that’s supposed to exist. Zoe missed her.

 

“I’m trying to help. I wish I could have personally killed all of them,” says Zoe. “But I guess. . .it doesn’t matter. They’re still dead. What they did to you is disgusting. Prison is too good for them.”

 

Sighing, Madison switches from her bed to Zoe’s. Her eyes soften a tad, fading from defensive to calm.

 

“I appreciate whatever concern you have, but I just want to sleep now,” she says. “I’m tired and I’ll get extremely bitchy if I don’t get my sleep.”

 

Zoe gives her the side eye. “Oh really?”

 

“Really. Now move over,” Madison says as she gently pushes Zoe.

 

“You have a bed,” Zoe reminds Madison although she does shift position so there’s room for an extra body.

 

“I. . .don’t want to be alone tonight. Not after. . .what I saw. Look, I know you probably hate me, but—“

 

“Just come on. Stop that. I don’t hate you,” Zoe says, lifting the blankets.

 

Madison wastes no time in laying next to Zoe. The bed is quite narrow, but they manage to put at least a few inches between each other. Madison uses the extra pillow on Zoe’s bed to snuggle with. With a snap of Zoe’s fingers, the light goes out.

 

Within an hour of falling asleep, Madison shoots up in bed, panting and gasping for air, but she doesn’t scream or cry. Instead, she leans into Zoe’s comforting embrace when arms engulf her and hold her close, and Zoe gently whispers in the blonde’s ear that she’s safe with her.

 

For the first time, in a long time, Madison feels genuinely whole. In the meantime, the bruises don’t matter.

 

+++

 

Winter arrives quicker than usual. It’s darker and colder this year. Snow isn’t a normal occurrence in the heart of New Orleans. In fact, it’s rare to see anything more than ice. However, the earth blesses the witches with a sheet of snow upon their wakening in early January.

 

Cordelia is hesitant to allow them to go outside after all that’s happened in the last few months. Moreover, she keeps her eyes on Madison, who has yet to show any signs of mental trauma since the detectives’ visit to the coven. She agrees to let them play in the snow before it melts, because it’s likely they won’t see this again for years.

 

The new supreme sits on their front porch swing and watches Zoe and Madison chase each other around the yard. Queenie is gathering up what little snow she can get and seems to be building a snowman of sorts. And Misty; she’s holding a snowball in her hand, admiring it like it’s gold.

 

Running helps free Madison’s stress left over from last night’s night terror. She does not transmute (because the memories of Zoe being impales haunt her), but she runs, and she finds it better not to cheat at her every whim simply because she has an ability. It’s a sense of normalcy.

 

Misty throws the snowball at Madison’s head; a small payback for always calling her “swamp rat.” Madison goes down easily, taking Zoe with her. They giggle on impact, though Madison promises herself to get that swamp witch back later. Now, she’s only concerned about getting Zoe off of her.

 

“You weigh a ton of bricks, you heifer,” Madison says. “Lay off the Halloween candy.”

 

Zoe mockingly sticks out her tongue and kisses Madison’s cheek. “Mm, no. I’ve not gained weight, and even if I did, it’s more to keep you warm at night.”

 

“You’d keep me warm regardless. But really, I can’t breathe with you on me.” Madison pushes Zoe’s face away.

 

“I thought you like when I get on—“

 

“Ahem,” Cordelia clears her throat. “Girls. Can we stay PG-rated while we’re out here?”

 

Zoe and Madison look up to find Cordelia standing over them. Their cheeks hold a faint shade of pink, and it’s not because of the cold.

 

“Y’all are so gross,” Queenie chimes in. “It’s like watching two animals suck each other’s faces off.”

 

Madison flips Queenie off, earning a halfhearted look from Cordelia, before rolling over in the thin veil of snow to push Zoe off.

 

“It’s been a good day,” Zoe says as she admires the grayish sky, pondering between the wisps. “Do you feel yourself getting better?”

 

Though Zoe can’t see it, Madison nods. She laces her ice cold fingers with Zoe’s.

 

“Yeah. I think so. I hope so.”

 

Despite the nightmares that come and go in intervals, Madison can feel the changes inside herself. The bruises healed long ago. The mental scarring is a different story, but only Zoe is aware of it, because she’s the one to pick Madison up—literally—and put the puzzle pieces back into place the best she can, just until Madison can learn to do it on her own.

 

Baby steps. In actuality, that’s the only way life really works. First you sit, then crawl, then stand, then walk, then run. Madison is in that awkward pulling-herself-up stage. It’s difficult, and it hurts, but as long as someone is there to assure her that it’s okay when she falls on her ass, she’s okay.

 

Sometimes, guilt does come around to tell Madison that Zoe is acting as a babysitter for her. Though, Zoe continues to remind her that she’s not a burden; certainly not when Zoe is happy to help Madison recover.

 

Lucidly, Madison dreams. It feels incredibly real for the moment, until she wakes up from a pleasant one saddened that it was just that; a dream. But when she wakes from a nightmare—or a nightmarish memory—she rolls over to find herself in Zoe’s comforting embrace, and all is sane again.

 

However, she’s not dreaming today. She’s playing in the snow, with Zoe at her side, and they’re laughing. Cordelia calls them inside and has a tray of mugs filled with hot chocolate prepared for them. As Madison goes to take one, Zoe smiles and picks a melting snowflake from her hair.

 

“What are you looking at?” Madison asks.

 

“You’re smiling,” Zoe says. “I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. I love seeing you smile.”

 

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Madison huffs.

 

“There it goes.”

 

Zoe makes Madison smile again. And though the monsters continue to inhabit her closet, Madison pretends they don’t exist while the sun is at peak, because there is no point in living if to live means to fear.

 

At sundown, the snow slows down. Madison and Zoe crawl into Zoe’s bed—because Madison’s is practically vacant as of now—and Zoe turns on their space heater.

 

“What do you feel right now?” Zoe asks Madison.

 

“Tired.” Madison throws her face into Zoe’s chest, eliciting a sharp exhale from the brunette.

 

“No, I mean, have you had any nightmares?”

 

Madison swallows. Yes, she has, but they’ve calmed down in the last few weeks. Still, she can see flickers of unidentifiable college boys on top of her, pinning her down. But maybe that’s a given from now on.

 

“Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. They won’t ever go away,” Madison mumbles.

 

“Should I suggest therapy again?” Zoe questions as she toys with a strain of blonde hair.

 

“I’m not going.”

 

Zoe frowns but doesn’t push it any further. It’s another conversation for another day; another headache for another hour. She understands Madison’s hurt and anguish. There is no need to press on more, not when they’re both utterly exhausted.

 

So Zoe puts it in the back of her mind, with the rest of their problems, and holds Madison tighter.

 

Madison snuggles up closer and, using her fingers, turns out the light as a wave of warmth comes over them. When she falls asleep, the big bad monster returns for another go around, but she doesn’t fight too hard, because she’s lucid, and she’s aware of the arms that hold her tight every night.

 

When she wakes with a cry, Zoe pulls her back down to earth and shushes her, despite her trembling. Madison nestles into the comfort, nursed back to reality by a heartbeat.

 

The bruises faded; but not everything does. Some things are simply destined to remain raw. And that’s okay, too. For now.


End file.
